


The Choice: Being a Tale of True Love, Containing an Estranged Weasley, Childish Jewelry, a Blunt Barkeep, and a Crup Named Salazar

by HC_Weatherfield



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family Drama, Family Feels, M/M, Multi, Weasley family dinners, and Draco serving an extra helping of gayness, and fluff, the hog's head, this is mostly schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 14:41:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10766325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HC_Weatherfield/pseuds/HC_Weatherfield
Summary: Harry has been estranged from most of the Weasley family ever since he and Draco got together.  Two years later, it's time for him to make a choice.(A fic that might have turned out quite differently if it weren't for the Dumbledore family perspicacity).





	The Choice: Being a Tale of True Love, Containing an Estranged Weasley, Childish Jewelry, a Blunt Barkeep, and a Crup Named Salazar

**Author's Note:**

> It would be the height of dishonesty to apologize for my sentimentalism, so I'll leave you to enjoy this one as it stands.

It had seemed like a good idea at the time.

For one thing, they were spectacularly in love. To the exclusion, it would become clear, of all else. The passion had been there since they first met. The affection was new, and it was delicious.

Another thing: they were both lonely. Harry had just come out of a nearly five-year, limping relationship with Ginny, followed by over a year of finding himself. That is, finding himself in every gay bar in Great Britain. He had plenty of friends, sure, but they had all seemed to be pairing up.

And, aside from his parents, Pansy, and Blaise, Draco had had no one. The elder Malfoys’ coldness had been an expected thing, but at least Draco wasn’t banned from the Manor--merely discouraged from bringing his boyfriend home without prior arrangement (and ample alcoholic provisions). That was fine; he and Harry resided at Grimmauld Place most of the time anyway.

Harry, however. He was coming up on his second Christmas without the Weasleys, and it just didn’t seem like a good idea any more. There was only so much a bloke could give up. He’d thought he’d drawn the line at his life. Apparently there was more to lose. Either way, there was so much to lose.

***

“No,” said Ron through a mouthful of chips.

“Then no,” Harry said, “you know I can’t.”

“C’mon, Harry. Just for an hour.” Ron swallowed. “Mum misses you.”

“I miss her,” said Harry. “All of you.”

“You’ve still got me, mate.”

Harry fixed Ron with a steady look. That was a half-truth at best.

“Really,” said Ron.

“Look, I know you’re not going to—abandon me or anything.” Harry furrowed his brow. That had come out sounding like an accusation. “Really, I do, I mean, that wasn’t a jab at you or anything—”

“I didn’t think it was until you said so.”

“Ron, listen. I know things aren’t going to...go back to how they were. Of course. They couldn’t. But...I want my family back.”

“Then you know what to do.”

Harry wanted to bang his head on the table. It was a moment before he could bring himself to speak again.

“In all my life,” he finally said, “I’ve never had one thing that’s mine. I mean, just mine.”

“You think I don’t know how that feels?”

“No, Ron! I don’t think you know how it feels when your own life doesn’t belong to you. Your own _mind_. And until the war ended, that was how I lived. You bloody well don’t know how that feels.”

“You think I—” Ron cut off abruptly, took a deep breath. Instead of yelling, he said, “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Living with Hermione is really getting to you,” Harry observed.

“Don’t change the subject.”

“I think I will,” said Harry. “I’m getting another pint. Want anything?”

“Need, more like.”

“All right.” Harry went to the bar. When he got back to the table, Hermione had arrived. Harry leaned down and kissed her forehead before sliding back into his own seat.

“Hello Harry,” she said, “what are your plans for Christmas?”

***

When Harry Flooed home he felt sick to his stomach and, what was worse, not at all drunk. He braced himself against the mantle and groaned. He heard footsteps: Draco fluttering about the house. The man couldn’t keep still.

“Harry dear, there you are, so pleased you’re home, we need to speak. D’you know what I found in the sink today? Dishes. _Dirty dishes_ in the _sink_. D’you have to do everything the Muggle way? You know, you can just cast a cleaning charm and—oh.” Draco had finally come into the parlor from the hallway, and he saw the look on Harry’s face. “Bad talk?”

Harry nodded. “I don’t know what’s worse—having pub night or not having it.”

Draco wrapped his arms around Harry, who in turn rested his head on his boyfriend’s shoulder. Draco was the taller of the two, which suited them well.

“They can’t hold out on you forever,” Draco said. “Nobody could resist your ‘poor-little-savior’ act.”

“Except you.”

“Right. I have other reasons.”

Harry took a deep breath and started his litany. “It’s all right. I’ve still got Teddy, Andromeda...Luna’s been lovely, and Neville’s been all right...we have the dogs...”

“Salazar is a Crup.”

“All right, we’ve got the dog and the demon. Look, do you want me to do my exercise or not?”

“I couldn’t care less. I’m not your bloody therapist.”

“Draco.”

“All right. Here, I’ll even contribute. Blaise and Pansy have not quite been complete twats.”

“That’s true enough. Though they both get that ‘wounded ex’ look from time to time...”

“They have each other,” said Draco firmly.

“All right.”

“And, of course, we have the incredible comfort of our two enormous fortunes.”

“To hell with enormous fortunes,” said Harry miserably.

“My dear, it is the privilege of a man with an enormous fortune to say such a thing.”

“I wish you wouldn’t call me ‘my dear.’ Sounds sort of—” Draco cut Harry off with a kiss before he could finish that thought.

“What were you saying?”

Harry just smiled and pulled Draco closer. They stood that way for a moment.

“Drink, dear?” Draco eventually asked. Harry nodded. Then, his Gryffindor courage failed him. He waited until his boyfriend’s back was turned, pouring the Firewhisky, to say it.

“I think I need to go to The Burrow for Christmas.”

***

As it was rather difficult to live with someone to whom you weren’t speaking, Draco (and Salazar the Crup, cruelly separated from his greyhound companion, Godric) went to stay with his parents at Malfoy Manor. Harry figured this situation would probably support his intention to think things through in a thorough and permanent manner, even if every second that he and Draco (and Salazar and Godric) were on the outs was painful.

“I can’t lose my family,” he said to Luna when she was over for tea.

“What sort of family,” Luna wondered aloud, “would force a man to choose between _their_ love and _the_ great love of his life?”

Harry choked on his tea. Luna patted his back.

“It’s not like that,” he mumbled eventually.

“Yes it is,” said Luna. “If they don’t accept you, they’re not your family.”

“They accept _me_...”

Luna put her hand over his, fixed her wide pale eyes on him. “Harry, Draco is a part of you.”

“I’m not sure, Luna.”

“Ah well,” said Luna mildly. “I’ve always been partial to love, but I suppose happiness isn’t for everybody.”

***

“George?” Harry set down the violently orange box he’d been carrying from the stockroom. Helping out at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes often cleared his mind, but it wasn’t working today.

“Yeah?”

“Why d’you think...that is...why’d your mum take me in in the first place?”

George emerged from the stockroom behind him, looking dusty and concerned.

“Have you met you?” he asked. “Why would you rescue a baby Kneazle that was caught in the rain?”

Harry groaned.

“This is about...”

“Yeah.”

George nodded. “Harry, mate, it’s not _you_. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, I reckon.”

“It’s— _him_.”

Angelina came down the stairs. “Oh, are we talking about—”

“Yeah.”

“You know it’s not _you_ , right, Harry?”

“I dunno,” said Harry. “Luna said that Draco’s, um. A part of me.”

George narrowed his eyes. “And what do you reckon?”

“I dunno.”

“Harry.” George put a hand on his shoulder. “You need to talk to Mum.”

Harry laughed outright as that.

“You _do_!”

“Easy for you to say,” said Harry. “You married a Gryffindor.”

“It’s not about Houses.”

“Right, I know, but—”

“It’s about Death Eaters.”

“George,” Angelina warned.

“Death Eaters and who’s fucking them,” George elaborated.

Harry faced down his friend, chin high. What Draco called “sass position.”

“I’d say it’s more like making love,” he said, and walked out of the store. He could hear George gagging behind him.

***

Harry stared at Hermione. “You can’t just expect me to roll out of Molly Weasley’s fireplace after two years for a little chat.”

“Well,” she said.

“Yes we can,” Ron piped up.

“Ron, I’m not just going to barge in on your mum.”

“She’s your mum too.”

Harry gave Ron an exasperated look, ran his hand through his hair. “No, she’s not,” he said quietly. “And she has every right to treat me how she wants.”

“No she doesn’t,” said Hermione.

Ron gave her an incredulous look. “She doesn’t?”

“No, Ronald. We’ve been over this. When you have a child, you accept them for who they are. It’s your duty as a parent.”

“Hermione—”

“What if my parents had stopped inviting me to Christmas when I told them I didn’t want to be a dentist?”

“That’s hardly the same thing,” Ron objected.

“Perhaps not. But the example demonstrates the principle.”

“Look,” said Harry, “I get it. I don’t expect anyone to just forgive him overnight. Some days I’m not really sure even I have. I just...I hoped...I dunno. I sound pathetic.”

“You hoped we would love you more than we hate him,” Hermione supplied.

“Yeah.”

“We do,” she said. Ron nodded emphatically.

“You’re a loon,” he said, “but you’ll never get rid of us. It’s Mum you have to worry about.”

And they were right back around to it.

***

“Of course I see why it’s hard on them,” said Neville. “I won’t say it was easy on me, either. You know that, mate. But it’s love. It’s not about choosing, and it’s not about who deserves it.”

“You sound like a Hufflepuff,” Harry told him.

“Well, I married one.”

“And what would you do? If your family...”

“Well, I’ve really only got Gran, and she loves Hannah. ‘The magically competent child she never had,’ as she puts it. And I get along with Hannah’s parents too. It makes things easy.”

Harry took a sip of his pint. It was dreadful, as it always was at the Hog’s Head.

“But,” Neville continued, “if Gran had kicked up a fuss about my marrying Hannah, I reckon I would have told her to go to Hell. It’s not Gran’s decision. I’m the one who’s got to live with her.”

Boots were heard on the floor. Aberforth Dumbledore plopped down in a chair opposite Harry.

“You talking about him and the Malfoy boy?” he asked Neville, who nodded.

“Same fuss?”

“Pretty much,” said Harry. “Molly Weasley wants me to come for Christmas. Without Draco.”

“Well.” Aberforth fixed Harry with a freezing stare. “Your man ever try to take over the world?”

Harry choked on his beer. “Er, a bit, actually.”

Aberforth raised his eyebrows. “Was it his idea?”

“No,” said Harry. “Decidedly not.”

“Well then. The man my brother loved tried, and it was his own idea.”

Harry stared. He’d figured about Dumbledore and Grindelwald, but it was surreal to have it confirmed.

“Don’t think he ever told him,” Abeforth continued. “Imagine if he did. If they’d been at it like rabbits instead of expending all their energy trying to change the world, a war could have been avoided.”

Harry turned to Neville. “Any way you can think of to translate that into Molly-Weasley-speak?”

“Nothing doing,” said Neville, “though he does have a point.”

“Damn right I do,” Aberforth grumbled.

“But, Harry.” Neville stared him down, with what Harry had come to recognize as his professor stare. “You do need to talk to her. Even if it’s just to tell her you’re not backing down—which I hope you won’t. Nothing good comes of going in circles round this.”

“All right.” Harry drained the rest of his pint in one. “Aberforth, any chance I could get a firewhisky?”

“Get it yourself.”

“I’ll go,” said Neville, and he left the table.

“Harry,” said Aberforth, “answer me this. I won’t pretend it en’t a pointed question, you’ll see it from a mile off, but answer me honestly as you can. Your Malfoy lad. He ever use you for his own gain?”

“Not without telling me,” said Harry.

“Right. And if it came down to sacrificing you again to save the world...would he do it?”

“That’s the problem,” said Harry. “I think he’d tell the world to fuck itself. I think he’d kill half of England himself to keep me.”

“There’s your answer, then.”

“But it’s the _problem_ ,” Harry repeated. “I think it’s part of why no one can forgive him. He protects his own at the cost of everything else. He told me...he hates Voldemort, and he regrets everyone who suffered because of him, but...he wouldn’t change what he did. Said it was to protect his family.” Harry put his head in his hands. “I shouldn’t have understood that as well as I did. Is there something wrong with me?”

“You’re barely out of childhood,” said Aberforth gruffly.

“I’m twenty-five!”

“Exactly. And your life up till now has been people using you. Everyone you meet. You saved them, all of them. Now that it’s over, it’s not your job to soothe their consciences about it. It’s your job to be as happy as you can manage in this shithole of a world.”

Neville was back with the drinks. Harry lifted his to Aberforth and drained it.

“Fuck ‘em,” Abeforth said, nodding his approval.

“Will you write to Molly?” Neville asked.

“Yeah. Don’t know what I’ll say when I see her, though.”

Neville smiled. “Never much of a planner, our Harry.”

“Perhaps that’s a good thing,” said Aberforth.

***

Harry sat by the fire with Godric's head on his knee and thought about his first kiss with Draco. They’d struck up an uneasy friendship after catching each other’s eyes across the dance floor at a Muggle club. Draco had crowed a bit to find Saint Potter at a gay bar, and Harry had let him, hoping he wouldn’t go to the _Prophet_ , and honestly just relieved to have someone to talk to. The conversation had been stilted, but there was a new undercurrent of understanding between them. Being a gay wizard was awful even without fame or postwar trauma. Neither of them knew anyone else in circumstances as close to his own.

After that they’d go to the clubs together occasionally, never touching each other, merely talking until the drinks kicked in and they could go find someone else to get off with. Then there began to be occasional coffees during the day. That had been the status quo—an uneasy friendship—until that night at the Burrow.

Harry had put in his notice with the Head Auror that morning. He couldn’t do it any more—fight, face the bureaucracy, bank on his fame, any of it. His adoptive family hadn’t understood.

“What are you going to _do_?” Molly wondered aloud. “No job, no family...it can’t be good for you, Harry dear, having nothing to _do_.”

“Are you sure you want to quit?” Hermione had asked for the hundredth time.

“Dead sure,” Harry had said.

“Well,” said Mrs. Weasley, “I don’t know about that, but if you’re going to, _ahem_ , take some time off...why not focus on finding yourself a nice girl to settle down with?”

Ginny and Harry were still in the process of forgiving each other at the time, so he hadn’t really been surprised when she’d scoffed and said, “I don’t think a nice _girl_ would be to his taste, Mum.”

Strangely—perhaps unreasonably—Harry hadn’t been angry at Ginny for outing him to his family. That wasn’t what set him off.

Bill had said, “Now, Ginny, there’s no need for nasty insinuations like that. Harry is family. Let’s try to be civil.”

And, much to the shock of the entire Weasley family and of Harry himself, Harry had socked Bill in the face.

As soon as he’d Apparated home, he’d firecalled Draco with a plea that he come to Grimmauld Place so Harry wouldn’t have to drink alone. Draco had Flooed in at once, breaking their unspoken rule that they did not visit each other’s home territory. Harry had poured him a drink as he explained what had happened.

“I can’t believe I hit Bill,” he’d said.

“Then thank your little Gryffindor gods I wasn’t there,” Draco had said. “If I’d heard heard the lout speak that way about you, I’m fairly certain I’d have hexed his balls off. Still might, come to think of it.”

And then, almost entirely unaware of his own actions, Harry had slammed Draco against the wall and started kissing him. Draco had made a tiny squeaking sound and fell still for a moment, but soon melted into Harry with a sigh that sounded like relief, wrapping his arms around his neck and giving him everything. And that was the moment everything started making sense. It was the most turned on Harry had ever been, but that wasn’t the whole of it. There was, surprisingly, comfort in touching Draco. It was right. Between the two of them, everything fell together.

And between Harry and the Weasleys, everything began to fall apart.

***

_Molly,_

_I would like to talk to you. May I call at the Burrow this week?_

_Harry._

 

_Harry,_

_Of course. Come for tea tomorrow. I’ll have Victoire, but the others will be out._

_Love,_

_Molly._

***

The afternoon sun lit the Burrow in a gentle gold. Harry inhaled the scent he’d once associated with home: firewood, food, the lemony finish of Molly’s cleaning charms. (The scent of home, now, was bergamot. Draco’s cologne, the constant earl grey tea—the man was obsessed).

“Uncle Harry!” Victoire Weasley shot out of the kitchen like a tiny blond comet, and was shortly wrapped around Harry’s legs.

“‘Lo, Victoire,” he said to the five-year-old, patting her head as it was the only part of her he could reach without falling over.

“Guess what Gramma and I did today.”

“I can’t. What did you do?”

“WE MADE BISCUITS!” Victoire had a formidable shriek. She released Harry and ran giggling back to the kitchen. Harry followed slowly.

Molly was waiting. She looked him up and down.

“Rather formal note, Harry dear.”

“Yes, well, Dra—I mean, I’ve been working on my letter writing.”

There was a tense pause.

“Oh, come here, then.” And Molly wrapped her arms around Harry.

You don’t always know when you’re living through a moment you’ll remember forever. This time, though, Harry _knew_ \--he’d take the memory of this hug to his grave. He smelled biscuits on Molly, and the dab of rose oil she wore at her pulse points, and sweat from the heat of the kitchen. She was soft, was Molly Weasley, but firm, her arms wrapped around him solidly and completely and—was she moving?

No, he realized after a moment. That was him. Without realizing it, he’d begun to sob. Molly tightened her arms around him.

“There, there dear. No need to cry,” she sniffled. “Oh! Harry, dear Harry.”

Harry leaned into her. He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid. This was his Mum. He couldn’t leave her. He would have to make her see. He wouldn’t give this up. They would all be together. They would have to.

Victoire’s little arms wrapped around his knees again, and Harry lay a hand on her head. Molly released him, grasping his shoulders instead so she could look at him, one tearful face to another.

“Well,” she said, “well.”

“Are you okay, Uncle Harry?” asked Victoire.

“Yeah,” Harry said, his voice too thick to be believable, “’M okay.”

Molly, still holding Harry at arm’s length, nodded decisively. “Dinner,” she said, “this Sunday. You’ll bring your young man.”

Harry nodded, and kept nodding. “Yes. Yes, thank you. Yes.”

“Oh, now,” said Molly. She ran her hand through his hair in an old gesture, as if trying to flatten it. “None of that. I’m—I’m sorry, you know. It was wrong of me. What I mean to say is—old codgers, you know. Change. We’ve a hard time with it.” Harry gave a watery laugh.

“Uncle Harry,” said Victoire, tugging on the hem of his shirt, “Come try a biscuit.”

“In a mo, Victoire,” he said to the little girl.

“Why don’t you go and see if Errol wants an owl-biscuit in the meantime?” Molly suggested.

Victoire nodded and ran out of the room. Harry gave a small smile. Since the war, Errol had considered himself to be in well-earned retirement, and spent a majority of his days and nights asleep. He was difficult to awaken even for a treat, and therefore of great help in entertaining the youngest Weasleys.

“Harry,” said Molly. He looked up at her attentively. “Harry,” she said again. She sighed.

“’S my name,” Harry tried to joke.

“I am sorry,” she said.

“So am I,” said Harry. “I shouldn’t have been so quick to—I mean, I should have tried harder. To make you understand. To let you know that—however you feel, it’s okay. But. I need him, anyway.”

Harry was starting to cry again. Molly shook her head and brought him back into her arms.

“I shouldn’t have let it happen,” she said. “You’re ours. My son, no matter what. I shouldn’t have forgot that.”

Harry shook harder, curled his hands into the cloth at the back of Molly’s dress. He hadn’t cried like this in years. Not since Tonks and Remus’ funeral, maybe, when he held baby Teddy and realized that he, like Harry, would never know his parents. No, not since then, in spite of all that had happened in between.

Eventually his sobs died down again, and Molly patted his back.

“Anyway,” she said, “you’ve always been quick to judge. If you’d made the wrong choice, I’m sure you’d have noticed by now.”

Harry laughed, almost silently. He had rather tired himself out. Sniffling, he drew himself away from Molly so he could look her in the eye.

“I think I’ve made the best choice I can,” he said.

Molly gave another of her decisive nods. “If he’s good for you, Harry dear, then he’ll be welcome here.” She paused, pressed her lips together, and added, “no matter who I have to drag to the table by the ear to make it so.”

Harry laughed. Molly nodded again. Then she told Harry he was too thin, called Victoire back into the room, and sat them both down to be fed.

***

_Draco,_

_Resolved. Please come home._

_Love,_

_Harry._

***

Harry had been in the sitting room for hours when Draco finally stepped out of the fireplace, holding the Crup in his arms. Harry had a firewhisky, which he’d barely sipped, and a magazine, which he’d not even opened. When Draco came, he set them both aside without a thought.

“Well,” said Draco, setting Salazar down and brushing soot off his trousers, “Here I am. You may begin your apology at your convenience.”

"Woof," said Salazar the Crup, before he and Godric began to run circles around the house by way of getting reacquainted.

“I’m sorry,” said Harry to Draco at once. “I was wrong. In—a lot of ways. Drink?”

“Please,” said Draco, “do serve me firewhisky and continue to expound on how you are wrong and I am right. You’ve begun the journey back into my good graces.”

Harry handed him his drink with a fondly exasperated look.

“Well?” Draco prompted after taking a sip.

“I went to Molly,” said Harry. “I thought about it for a while, talked to—well, just about everyone I know. Until I’d worked out what I needed to say to her.”

Harry swallowed, and to Draco’s credit, he did not interrupt.

“I was ready,” Harry continued, “to storm into her very kitchen and tell her that, while I very much wanted to be a part of the family”—Draco took in a hissing breath—“you were the most important thing to me, and I would not come back without you,” Harry finished.

“Too right,” said Draco, somewhat weakly.

Harry sipped his drink, watching Draco with an unfathomable look in his eyes.

“Well?” said Draco irritably, “What happened?”

“Ah.” Harry laughed. “Actually, before I could get a word in, Molly was hugging me and inviting you to family dinner. Turns out she was holding up about as well as I was with the separation.”

“Family Dinner,” Draco echoed.

“Yes. Sunday.”

“ _Weasley_ family dinner.”

“Yes, Draco.”

“At the _Weasley_ home.”

“With your Weasley fiancé.”

Draco choked on his firewhisky. “My what?”

“If you’ll have me,” said Harry coyly.

Draco held up a single finger, indicating that he was not yet ready to respond. He drained his glass, set it down, and put his head in his hands.

“Draco?” said Harry after several long minutes.

“To recap,” Draco said, looking up, “you have been welcomed back into the Weasley family by your bitch of an adoptive mother”—

“Don’t call her that.”

“But she _has_ been a bitch.”

“Maybe,” Harry shrugged, “but so have I.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “I suppose I can’t contradict that.”

“Molly’s quite sweet,” said Harry.

“She killed my aunt,” said Draco.

“Your aunt killed my godfather,” Harry pointed out.

“Might make the wedding a bit awkward.”

Harry’s face split into a wide grin. “Wedding?”

“Yes, Potter, do try to keep up. Against my better judgment, I have agreed to your preposterous proposal.”

“Good.”

“It was not at all done in the proper way, you realize,” Draco sniffed. “The stars are absolutely wrong for it, you’ve not got me a single courting gift or made a formal declaration of any sort—you’ve not even given me a ring, you bloody peasant.”

“Didn’t think you’d trust me to pick yours out for you.” Draco raised his eyebrows, and Harry added, “Or my own, for that matter.”

Draco looked slightly mollified. “All right, you have me there. But you’ll not be blabbing this about until you’ve formalized things, you enormous brute.”

“You’re taller than me,” Harry observed.

“I was referring to the stature of your brutishness.”

“Of course.”

There was a silence as the two stared at each other from their opposite seats, taking in the enormity of what they had just agreed to. No longer could the whole of it be played off as temporary insanity, or as a hazy dream-come-true. It was real now. It was permanent.

“The reason,” Harry croaked, finally, “is that I’ve missed you more than I would have believed. It’s just been a few days, but—they’re not good days, without you.”

Spurred by the confession, Draco found himself setting down his drink and standing almost automatically, as if compelled to do so. The two men rushed toward each other and met in the middle.

The kiss, though rushed, was not clumsy. They knew each other too well for that. Instead, it was warm, soft-but-firm, and it was sweet and safe-but-hot, and it was all the things they were to each other. It was _right_ where so much in life was and always had been wrong.

They clung to each other and laughed and cried. They were a mess.

***

It is incredible how quickly one can shop for engagement rings in a world that contains the Re-Sizing Charm. On Thursday, Harry and Draco buried themselves in books, choosing gemstones for each other’s rings at guess-whose insistence. Draco, of course, was well versed in the symbolism of every stone imaginable, but seemed to enjoy re-reading legends, and pointing out the meanings of difference cuts and the histories of famous jewels to Harry.

When they put their books down, Harry was fixing Draco with a determined look.

“Well then,” Draco sighed in mock-resignation, “what will I be wearing for the rest of my life?”

“Garnet,” said Harry.

Draco gave a small smile and squeezed Harry’s hand, hard. Garnet, the stone of passionate devotion, was as durable as it was binding.

“And for you,” said Draco, carding Harry’s hair with his free hand, “Emerald.”

“Rebirth?” said Harry, brow furrowed.

Draco nodded. “And balance.”

Harry kissed him. “It’s perfect.”

Friday, they went the the Malfoy family’s favorite jeweler, where they selected their desired stones and settings. Draco’s garnet was a deep red, and Harry’s emerald was, predictably, green.

“We’ve chosen our House colors for each other,” Harry pointed out.

Draco laughed. “What a cliché.” But they decided to embrace it: a gold setting for the garnet, and platinum for the emerald.

The jeweler spent Saturday on their rings. He was a busy man, but the Malfoys were his best customers, and Harry and Draco had not asked any elaborate workmanship of him.

So it was that on Sunday afternoon, Harry and Draco stood in the jeweler’s shop, admiring their new rings, which were simply but beautifully crafted and fit perfectly.

“Are you sure the stars are right for this?” Harry joked.

Draco sniffed. “They’re not wrong for it.”

“Admit it,” said Harry with a laugh, “you just want to mark your territory in front of Molly and the rest of the Weasleys.”

“All right.” Draco wrapped an arm around Harry’s waist, gripping tightly. “I want to mark my territory in front of the Weasley matron and her brood.”

“Me too,” said Harry, “though you’re going to have to start calling her Molly sometime, if she’s to be your mother-in-law.”

Draco shuddered. “Perhaps _after_ she sees the rings.”

“Fair.”

They went home to Grimmauld Place, dressed for dinner, took one look at each other, and undressed. After showering, dressing again, and feeding the dogs, they arrived at The Burrow only five minutes past the hour.

Harry grasped Draco’s hand and knocked. Mrs. Weasley answered.

“Harry!” She hugged him. “And Draco. It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry it didn’t happen sooner.” She offered her hand.

“I’m honored to be here, Mrs. Weasley,” Draco said. He clasped her hand in both of his, and Harry watched her notice the ring. Her eyes flickered to him before she fixed her attention back on Draco.

“Call me Molly,” she said. Then she winked and led them inside. “Everyone, Harry and Draco are here!”

They walked into the living room to find the entire Weasley family assembled. There was a chorus of dutiful greetings from the adults, and of enthusiastic ones from the children, though they all refrained from embracing their Uncle Harry until the presence of the strange man was accounted for.

“Thank you for having me,” Draco said. His easy smile sparked suspicion in Hermione, and she looked the two of them up and down, then groaned.

“ _Harry_ ,” she burst out, “is this _really_ the time?”

“What?” said Ron.

“Use your eyes, Ronald.”

Ron tried to follow his wife’s directions, squinting and staring at Harry and Draco as if trying to see through them. But before he noticed, Ginny gasped.

“Harry!” she said in a scolding voice, “You’ve gone and got engaged!”

Harry nodded.

“I can’t _believe_ you,” said Ginny. “I’m telling Mum.”

“I’m right here,” Molly pointed out with an exasperated huff.

“Wait,” said George.

“Congratulations, Harry” said Percy, whose bureaucratic training seemed to have given him the ability to recover quickly from surprising news.

“Could’ve _told_ us,” Ginny grumbled. Beside her, Dean grunted his agreement.

“Wait,” said George again.

“Congratulations, ‘Arry, Draco,” said Fleur. Draco responded to her in French, which made her smile, and they began chattering.

“Not now, George,” said Angelina to her husband.

“Wait,” said Ron.

“I’m waiting,” said Harry, who had been watching his best friends’ reactions most closely.

“Wait, so,” said Ron, eyebrows drawn together, “If you’re getting married...which one’s best man? Me or Hermione?”

“ _Honestly_ , Ronald!”

And from there, the evening roared on in a mess of food, drinks, congratulations, and interrogations. By the time dessert came, George had set off a few trick fireworks indoors, and Draco was attempting to drag himself back into the dining room with Victoire and little Molly, Percy’s eldest, clinging to each leg.

Harry grinned to see Draco getting along so well. After all, if he was going to join the family, he’d have to get used to the chaos.


End file.
